Once More, With Pheeling
by StakeMeSpike04
Summary: The story of Christine and the Phantom in show tunes. Easy reads, nothing too fancy. New chapter to come: "No One Has Ever Loved Me" from Passion.
1. Alone In The Universe

**A/N**: So this was a fairly spur-of-the-moment idea, but one that wasn't completely out of the blue. Many times I've listened to Broadway songs and thought 'hey, doesn't that apply a little to Phantom?' So, because of this, I've decided to write a bunch of one-shots and compile them together. I'm sure someone else has probably done this already, but I thought it would be a fun little project, and something to be enjoyed. So, give me feedback, and suggestions! I'd love to see what songs you think apply to Christine and Erik!

**Disclaimer**: Phantom belongs to Lloyd Webber and Leroux, and Seussical belongs to Dr. Seuss Enterprises and Flaherty.

Chapter I - Alone In The Universe

Little footfalls could be heard from below, imprinting themselves on the wooden floorboards ceaselessly. It could be said soundly that from stories below one can hear the pitter-pattering of footsteps. So many people passed within the Opera that no one could possibly count the passersby that crossed within its' walls. From employees of the Opera to patrons, many had the good fortune to say they had seen the grand building and had experienced the life inside first-handedly.

One young, impressionable girl heard them all, and each and every sound they made. The feet, though encased in many different holdings and belonging to forms of different varieties, all sounded similarly from the distance that separated them. Every day she escaped from these sounds, despite whether or not it was the sound of heavy feet or the sounds of laughter, singing, or musician's fiddling. It was not that she found these sounds perturbing – on the contrary, they sounded homey. She attributed all these sounds to the familiarity of a home, of feeling comfortable and content. She was just as at home on the stage as she was practicing offstage or eating in the little cafe just outside the Opera. The need to escape these sounds wasn't great, nor necessary, but she found herself escaping them more and more.

Though she loved her new home, she still missed her old one terribly. Every day the reminder of what she had lost hit her acutely. The memory of her father's death stayed with her, like a dull ache in her heart that would not leave. He had been her best friend in the entire world, and now he was gone. The love she had had for her father was a childish, unconditional love. In her eyes he was the most wonderful individual she had ever known, and would ever meet. In her child's heart she felt that she would never meet a man quite like him.

The only consolation to her grief had been the promise he had made to her...and her father always kept his promises. He had told her, before he died, that he would send the Angel of Music to her to watch over her. She believed him fervently, and knew that one day an angel would come to guard and guide her while she trained at the Opera. However, weeks had already passed since her father's soul had left this plain, and still the angel had not appeared.

Christine Daae was not a girl of rational thought. Many a time her peers would reflect upon how often Christine kept to herself, or how often her attention would wander during rehearsals. She couldn't help it – it was simply in her nature. She was fanciful, and had always been that way, from a very young age. Her father had made her so, and had fostered the dreamy aspect in his daughter. The stories he wove inspired her dreaming, causing the girl to wrap herself around the notion of fairies, goblins and the like. She would imagine, during the most tiring of moments, that pixies would crawl out of misplaced ballet slippers, or that the members of the orchestra would pop up from the pit, startled because their ankles had been nipped at by lamias. She saw these things in her mind's eye, and they pleased her, because they took her away from her current situation. Not that she was ungrateful for where she was. She was not. It was just that she sometimes felt more lonely than she could explain, and more imaginative than she could afford. It was something that got her into trouble, often earning a reprimand from Madame Giry. But she took the chastisement demurely and without complaint.

For she had found something that was worthy of separating herself from reality. Something she could not share with her fellow ballet rats, or members of the chorus. Something she could not, and would not, for that matter, share with Meg, her closest friend at the Opera, or Madame Giry. Her own personal piece of magic.

_I'm alone in the universe.__  
So alone in the universe  
I've found magic but they don't see it_

She sat alone in the chapel below the stage, her hands laced neatly on her lap as her skirt spread around her. She tuned out the voices from above, the footsteps that pounded so irately upon the floorboards above, and turned her inner ear to the silence in the room. Silence filled it like it was a void and it felt appropriate. The only sound she had heard in the room before had been the Voice - the glorious thing tying her to this empty hovel. At first she had thought herself mad, hearing voices that could not possibly be there. However, the Voice did not cease, and it did not make only a single appearance. It came to her a few times, and filled her with a longing so deep she could not trace the source. It called to her sweetly, the yearning in it matching the yearning in her soul. It beckoned her with it's warm invitation, hauntingly lovely and rich. It never spoke - it would only sing to her. The songs were familiar, many from her homeland and many from the performances in the Opera. It was a voice unlike any human voice she had heard before. Ever since hearing it for the first time, she had immediately convinced herself that it was her angel, come to her at last.

Despite how thankful and lucky she was to have the Voice in her life, it also saddened her. She could not share the glory of the Voice, nor the knowledge of it. Firstly, no one believed her. It was truly ironic that people believed in a ghost haunting the Opera, but they did not believe in the Voice, a voice like an angel. She had tried to tell Meg, and in attempting it, had been overheard and it had earned snarky comments. They called her foolish, a dreamer, daft. She knew she was not and she knew what she had heard. Meg could only shake her head glumly at Christine. She did not believe her either.

_They all call me a lunatic._  
_Ok, call me a lunatic.  
If I stand on my own, so be it._

Partly her isolation depressed her, and yet she did not share too much time caring about it. The Voice was her friend, and it sometimes felt like it was her only true one. He – for the Voice was masculine – encouraged her, and his presence felt as if he genuinely cared. He knew of her father's death, and had been there to comfort her in her bereavement from the moment she stepped foot inside the Opera. He made his presence known to her, easing her pain when she cried and soothing her when she was afraid. He was sympathetic to her worries, understanding of her fears, and kind even when he needed to be cruel. He was the strong, sturdy hand, guiding her along her path, shaping her for greatness. He stood by her when others did not, and let her make her opinion known to him. He did not make her feel insipid, or silly, even when she knew she was acting that way. He listened to her, and she listened to him. Theirs was a relationship that could not be explained. Oh, but how Christine wished to tell someone of the Voice!

_'Cause I have wings.  
Yes, I can fly_

He made her feel like she was capable of many things. To a child – though she was no longer as much of a child as she once had been – the world was a large and frightening place. He made her feel like she could accomplish any dream she had, could reach any star she reached for. Even her dream of becoming a prima donna.

_Around the moon  
And far beyond the sky_

She trusted that he could do this for her, and she wanted it, more than she had ever wanted anything. With the Voice in tow, she could do anything.

_And one day soon  
I know there you'll be_

For some unexplainable reason, she believed in the Voice more than she believed in the very real people surrounding her. She had faith in Him, and she had faith in the magic he inspired within her. Her faith in Him was strong, and she only wanted others to have faith in Him as well. Though she was fairly certain he came to no one else, she sometimes wondered. She had so many questions to ask him, but he never spoke to her the way a person speaks to another person. Could she find within herself the power to know the Voice as intimately as it knew her? The Voice was a gift to the world, and an important one at that. But how could she ask questions of something so precious without the fear of scaring it away by her curiosity? After all, she was only one human, and the Voice was an angel.

_One small voice in the universe_  
_One true friend in the universe  
Who believes in me..._

He had never imagined that he could reach out to another person the way he had reached out to Christine. Making her believe that he was some sort of celestial being was more than he could have hoped for in pursuing a connection with her. Though the deception was mind-numbingly disturbing, he could not find it within himself to cut her off from his existence. It was no longer about him and his inane, desperate need for human interaction – it was a relationship that Christine relied upon. He saw the way her face glowed whenever he sang to her or played her music. She needed him just as much as he needed her, though he could not convince himself of it completely. Oftentimes he would try to convince himself despite his misgivings that he should not be doing what he was doing, but it was already too late. She knew the Voice, and if he left her he could not be sure that she would survive the blow. She had already lost her father, the man who had played a major role in her life, and in losing him she had needed to find a substitution. Erik had made that decision for her, and it could not be taken back now. He would stay, if only to keep his promise to Christine to not leave her. She meant too much to him to hurt her so.

_I'm alone in the universe._  
_So alone in the universe.  
My own planets and stars are glowing._

For years Erik had lived a solitary life, not needing the companionship of others to complete him. The world that had mocked his very existence had only shown him pain and suffering, cruelty and rejection. He had become a law unto himself, a community of one that served his purposes singularly. He was capable of things others were not capable of. No knowledge, no craft was beyond his hand, beyond his comprehension. But he knew there was knowledge, and then there was experience. He understood human psychology, had witnessed it, but he did not share in it. He understood the feeling of jealousy, of love, but he had never felt those things. He understood the anatomy of a butterfly, but he had never seen one that was not inside a book. Erik had an abundance of knowledge, but most of his knowledge would never be shared with the world. He was a genius, he owned a great collection of talents, but they would never be showcased.

Before Christine, no one had ever listened to him. He had secreted himself away below the Opera for so many years that he sometimes forgot what his natural speaking voice was like. He used his voice to scare the ballerinas, to intimate the managers, but he spoke to very few people conversationally, and very rarely at that. In knowing Christine, he began to express himself more freely, more abundantly, if only a little at a time. It was enough to share a piece of himself with the girl. She listened openly, drinking in his voice as if she had an eternal thirst for it. He loved granting her wish to hear him. His wish was only to be heard, to be known. To be accepted as something other than a monster.

_No one notices anything_  
_Not one person is listening  
They don't have any way of knowing_

He entered the hidden space in the alcove that she would never suspect housed him, and stood silently, watching her. Her sweet head of curls was bowed, and she appeared to be in deep thought. His lips lifted into the closest semblance of a smile he could manage. His heart pounded with affection for the young girl. His protege – the angelic little child he had watched grow since she came to his Opera, brightening his world with her kind and large heart. He would give anything to make her happy, and he would watch over her as best he could. For he felt there was in his heart a special place for her, a place that could not be tampered with nor changed. She was forever plastered into him, a piece of who he was. She had changed him forever, even if just by hearing him. They were connected on a level no one else could understand. And he would not let anyone else understand, for they never would comprehend what she meant to him.

_I have wings_  
_I can fly  
Beyond the sky_

She looked up suddenly, sharply. She sensed him – he could tell. Her eyes were clouded, but soon they were cleared and the confusion lifted. She smiled serenely. She knew her Voice was here. Obliging her, he answered her silent plea for him to make himself known. He sang to her softly, gently, awakening the secret part of herself she kept hidden from everyone else. Only he could unleash the real Christine.

"Angel..." she said after a moment, her girlish child's voice elated. She was calm, at peace in his presence. All of her sadness abated when he visited. He knew she knew that he would take care of her. He sang for many minutes, and she simply sat, unspeaking, engulfing the music with rapture in her eyes. After his song ended, she started, something akin to courage driving her to call out into the darkness.

_Well someday soon  
You will hear my plea_

"Angel...? I...please, won't you talk to me? I dream about hearing you say my name, and sometimes in my dreams we speak about many things. Won't you say something? Just once, so I can know you're real, and not in my head?"

_One small voice in the universe_

He furrowed his brow. She had never asked for him to speak to her before. The request was understandable, but he still feared it. Speaking to her would be crossing a line they had been toeing for weeks. Their relationship was intangible, but if they were to begin communicating in words rather than in feeling, he would become a part of her life that went beyond music. _Music embodies feeling without forcing it to contend and combine with thought, as it is forced in most arts and especially in the art of words_, as Franz Liszt once said. Could he allow such a relationship with Christine without the fear of revealing himself as human, rather than angel? Looking upon her face, he knew his decision was already made.

_One true friend in the universe  
Please, believe in me..._

"How was rehearsal today, _ma petit amie_?" he asked amiably, watching as her eyes widened considerably. She looked entranced, blissful, and relieved. He suspected she was happy to know she was not hearing voices after all. After a moment, she lifted her shoulders in a shrug.

"Nothing remarkable to speak of." So mature, he thought with fondness. Even for a young thing of seven. Yet, Christine was still an innocent, naïve thing. Erik would not have it any other way.

"You don't say," he replied with a small laugh, amused by the child. She smiled in return to the laughter in his voice, glad to know she had put him in high spirits. She so enjoyed laughing, and was glad to know her Voice enjoyed it as well. His speaking voice was the most beautiful thing in the entire world, second only to his singing voice. It gave her great joy to hear him. It felt like Christmas.

She nodded, confirming what she said. "Madame Giry works us to the bone, but she tells us we shall be grateful for it later."

He nodded solemnly, mindful of the fact that she could not see it. Mindful, also, that she never would. The thought did not sadden him, however. At least, not for the moment. "She is right. You must work hard to achieve your goals, child."

Christine bowed her head, looking dutiful and obedient. "Yes, maestro."

Erik narrowed his eyes at the name, but did not say anything. It felt fitting. He would allow her to call him thusly. He would be her maestro, and she his pupil. All in good time.

"You know where your true talent lies, Christine."

_Yes I have wings  
Yes, I can fly  
Around the moon__  
And far beyond the sky_

She bowed her head further. She was humbled that he thought so highly of her. There had been a few times where she had sung with him, glorying in his voice and the result of mixing hers with his. It was like nothing she had ever known. "_Ange_..."

"Dance for now, Christine. Enjoy the art of it. But I want you to remember what you are capable of. What you can become. What I foresee you becoming." Now that she had spoken to him, he would not hold back. She had called upon him, and he answered. He felt alive for the first time in a long time.

_You call my name  
And you set me free_

"Thank you, maestro," she answered quietly, tears coming to her eyes at his praise and at the confidence he had in her. She felt truly blessed that the angel believed so deeply in her, just as she believed in him. She would give him all of her, for he had answered her plea for companionship and salvation. She would do everything he asked.

_One small voice in the universe  
One true friend in the universe_

He had high hopes for Christine, hopes that he wished to fulfill through her. He knew he would never be known by the world, but if he could further his young protege and make her his Voice, he could live through her. She would be the star, and he would feel the accomplishment of knowing his music was alive in her. She could recreate what he wrote and broadcast it to the world. Only she could be his Voice, the instrument to play his music. And soon, he hoped to let her know that he wished this of her. But not yet – she was still too young to know what he had planned for her. Even so, he would make all of her dreams come true. They were destined for greatness, the pair of them. Together they would reach great heights, and even if they did not, they would still have each other, to be there for one another and listen when no one else would. For theirs was something untouchable. Something lovely, and rare, and sweet. They had found each other, at last.

_Who believes in me._


	2. Walk Through The Fire

**Disclaimer**: Phantom belongs to Andrew Lloyd Webber and Leroux, and Buffy belongs to Joss Whedon.

Chapter 2 - Walk Through The Fire 

It had finally come to this. The final fight. This final battle where the victor conquered, and anyone left in the wake of the fight would feel the repercussions. Christine knew, in a most painful, acute way, that she was the reason there was even a battle to begin with. If not for her, the managers would have never experienced the great and terrible wrath of the Opera Ghost. Raoul would never have had to resort to proposing violence. She shuddered to think on it too long. The way his eyes seemed to grow cold and flinty as he contemplated the plan, _his_ plan. He would leave her behind, his mind imagining the scenario carefully. Breath short, face ashen, knuckles white as they grasped the back of his chair…he frightened her. Not for her, particularly, but for himself. He was transforming into something else. Or, someone else. Someone she knew well.

His plan was not very clever, despite his thinking and the support of the managers and Gendarmerie. Even if they managed to lure him out (a very unlikely occurrence, he was far too smart for that), they would never be able to catch him. Christine had seen him in action; she knew what he was capable of. The Phantom was far too careful to allow anyone to get too close. If Raoul had a plan, the Phantom had a plan. And he would be five steps ahead of them.

When Raoul had proposed the plan to her, Christine had been anything but comforted. Yes, she was afraid, and yes, she wanted to escape _his_ clutches (didn't she?), but was this the way to go about it? To dangle her before him tauntingly as bait? To bring the Phantom into the open so that the authorities could have the chance to snatch him? It would be the only opportunity they would ever have, and she was sure the managers knew that. But it wasn't going to work. Christine could feel the truth of that down to her very bones. To even attempt something of this magnitude was suicide. But not for her. No, the Phantom would not understand her part in it. Or, if he did, he would not blame her. He was too wrapped up in his hatred to care about Christine tonight. No, this entire farce would not be about her. It might have started because of her, but it was much larger than her now. It was now a matter of pride, of recognizing who was truly in charge.

And Christine would not dispute that the Phantom was the one who was really in charge.

She had overhead Raoul discussing the 'plan' with the managers, and it was all she could do not to scoff and roll her eyes. Pistols? Locked doors? Was any of it really necessary? Would any of it even work? Her mind was with them, but her heart and her soul were not. And it was not because she doubted their capability to capture him, even though she did. It was because she did not want to do this to him. Despite everything they had been through – the lies, the hurt, the betrayal – she did not want to hurt him. Her loyalty was very much divided, and it was with this truth that she was uncertain she could pull off the performance convincingly. Just what was the last conversation she had had with Raoul?

"_You can do it, Christine," he assured her gently._

"_I cannot…" _

"_Christine, please." He took her hands in his, looking into her eyes entreatingly. "This could be our chance, our best chance to free you from his hold. If you do this, you'll save us all from the terror he has inflicted. On all of us."_

_She had kept herself from scowling into his face. Terror? They did not know the meaning of terror. Had they seen his face? Did they know his rage, his temper? Did they know what he had done?_

_Had they heard his voice, felt his sensual presence, known the yearning of being so close, yet so far away? _

_No, they knew nothing of terror. Because that was what Christine felt, more than anyone else, from Erik. She was terrified of what he had done. Terrified of what he was capable of. Terrified of what he could make her feel, of what he could do to her if she let him._

_But Raoul had no idea._

"_It won't work, Raoul," she argued, pleadingly. "He sees everything, knows everything…"_

"_He won't see this coming," he replied, somewhat defensively. "He won't foresee you complying with this wishes. He won't foresee you-."_

He had tapered off before continuing his sentence, but she knew what he had been about to say. He was going to say, "He won't foresee you betraying him." But Christine _wanted_ Erik to foresee it. Because she was weak, easily manipulated. They were using her to bait the Phantom. And really, were they any better than him by doing this?

In the end, however, she had complied. What choice did she have? If she did not, there was no telling what he would do. His wrath would be great either way, and in this, Christine had to be selfless. Up until now, she had been as selfish as any woman could be. She had enjoyed and encouraged the affections of two men, never really choosing one until her hand was forced. She had let herself be the plaything of a murderer, manipulating her Christian soul. That alone made her sick with guilt. He had murdered people, all in the name of furthering her career. She knew she had to make amends for it somehow, and tonight, this would be her payment.

She had sold her soul to the Devil for the sake of a Voice, and tonight she would betray him to quench her thirst for absolution.

If Christine didn't make herself sick with apprehension before the performance, she would consider it a mercy by Providence.

It was fifteen minutes before the curtain would open. She was sitting in her Aminta costume, staring herself down in the mirror, daring herself to abandon this foolish mission. She felt chills all over her body, rushing up and down her arms, across the width of her shoulders, and pooling, like ice, in her stomach. Her being was clenched tight with anxiety. Clutching a glass of water, she took a tiny sip, allowing the smooth, cool liquid to sooth her.

Despite her misgivings about what she was about to do, she had agreed and would go on. She knew her lines, but she knew the moment she spoke or sang them, they would taste like ash in her mouth. How would she be able to do this?

"_I touch the fire and it freezes me, I look into it and it's black." _Her voice was quiet, contemplative. She smoothed the front of her dress, hardly believing what she was about to do. She was afraid, so afraid, but she was also indignant. Her hand had been forced one too many times, and she was angry. It felt like her life was no longer hers, because she was merely playing a part in someone else's story._ "Why can't I feel? My skin should crack and peel."_ Setting her jaw sternly, she stared herself down in the mirror. _"I want the fire back."_

She crossed to the dresser, picking up a rose that had been left there. It was tied, as per usual, with a black ribbon. The flower itself, however, was different than the usual fare left for her. Instead of being picked free of thorns, the pointed hindrances had been left on the stem. _I know what you've done,_ it seemed say_. _A message. She knew with certain clarity at that moment that the Phantom knew their plan, and he was unafraid. She was unsurprised. Of course he was unafraid. Nothing scared him. And, like a silent beacon, he urged her to be unafraid as well. The time for fear and cowardice had passed.

"_Now, through the smoke he calls to me, to make my way across the flame…"_ But did he know what he was asking? Did Raoul? The pristine, snow-white bouquet of roses that Raoul had left for her remained untouched, sitting quietly on her vanity. _Innocence._ She stared at them forlornly, feeling as if they were _both_ betraying her by asking her to do this. It was cruel, really.

What did they even want from her? _"To save the day, or maybe melt away?... I guess it's all the same."_

She strode back to her vanity, defying them both with her newfound courage. Yes, she could do this. And she would no longer complain, cry, or pout about it. She would find the woman in her, neglect the girl, and do what she must. "_So I will walk through the fire! 'Cause where else can I turn?" _Tucking the scarlet blossom into her thick, mahogany curls, she held her head high. The show would go on. "_I will walk through the fire, and let it…"_

The Phantom sat high above in his lofty nest, watching the managers and the insipid Vicomte prepare. It was all he could do not to sneer. Did they really think they could win?

"_The torch I bear is scorching me," _he sang lowly, sarcasm dripping from his every pale, chilled pore, _"They're all laughing, I've no doubt." _He clutched the chain even tighter, vengeance completing his ire. _Why would I hide, they'd be free if I died…" _He eyed them contemplatively, a slow smirk growing behind the mask. _"I better help them out…"_ He thought morbidly.

He made the arrangements quickly, leaving the space where the chandelier was operated. It was so simple, really. A little tug, a little snip, and everything would fall down.

_But Christine…_

He shook his head, pushing the hurt away. Now was not the time for sorrow. She was a willing participant, and so was he. They would make this final leap together. For better or for worse, he would not let them destroy what he had built, what he had worked for.

"'_Cause she is drawn to the fire. Some people," _no,not _people, " – she will never learn!"_ And he knew she never would. He had warned her many times of what would happen if she betrayed her Angel, but she did not listen. And now, everything was at stake. _"And she will walk through the fire, and let it…"_

Raoul sat in the managers' office, waiting for the house to open. Was this really going to work? he asked himself. He doubted, though he did not want to. But he did doubt, for her sake. He was worried it wouldn't work, and he would lose her forever. That was not all, however. He was worried she would make the wrong choice, or be tempted into it, out of pity or guilt. Or something deeper. And Raoul was afraid of that.

"_Will this do a thing to change her?"_ he wondered, nervous. _"Am I leaving her in danger? Is my Lotte too far gone to care?"_

"_What if Christine cannot sing it?"_ Meg Giry, Christine's friend and Madame Giry's daughter, asked.

"_Meg, my dear, is right! We're needed! Or we could just sit around and glare," _she added, looking disapprovingly at the occupants of the room. Namely the managers, Raoul, and the chief of police.

"_We'll see it through, that's what we're always here to do! So we will walk through the fire…"_

Walking towards the stage, Christine felt hollow. Her feet moved, but her heart was silent. _"So, one by one, they turn from me. I guess my friends can't face the cold…"_ Where were they, anyway? Madame Giry? Meg? Raoul? Would they abandon her in her hour of need? Were they just as scared as she was? Could their fear even compare? _"But why I froze, not one among them knows, and never can be told."_ For she never would tell them how she really felt about Erik, about what she was about to do to him. They could never know the depth of this betrayal...

They all made their way towards the house - Christine and the Giry women went to the wings, Raoul and the managers went to the house, and the Phantom, to his hiding spot to watch the show begin.

He sat with hooded eyes, watching them all in dark amusement and stoicism. It would all end here, and they would question the power of the Opera Ghost no longer. They would know the darkness that was the Phantom of the Opera at long last. The Angel of Death was upon them.

"_So one by one, they come to me…the distant redness as their guide…  
That single flame,  
Not what they had in mind,  
It's what they have inside…"_

Fear, like frost, climbed into the wings…

"_She came from the grave, much graver…" _Madame Giry postulated, thinking of the death-like existence the Phantom led.

The boxes above the audience…

"_First they'll kill him, then I'll save her,"_ Raoul promised, more certain than he was before.

Through the cast…

"_Everything is turning out so dark…"_ Meg whispered, reluctantly pulling on her slippers.

"_Walking through the motions…" _Christine echoed, eyes glassy and still.

"_No, I'll take her, then I'll kill her,"_ the Phantom spoke darkly.

"_I think this line's mostly filler,"_ Firmin said doubtfully, turning to Andre for confirmation.

"_What's it gonna take to strike a spark?"_ Raoul wondered, looking towards the place where Christine would appear.

"_These endless days are finally ending in a blaze!" _Christine cried.

"_She will come to me!" _The Phantom was sure.

"_And we are caught in the fire! The point of no return. So we will walk through the fire and let it burn!"_

Christine felt a pressure on her hand. She looked down. There, clasping her own, was another hand. Meg's. Smiling into the girl's face, Christine nodded, feeling courage overtake her. With a final breath, she lifted her chin as the overture began and the curtain parted.

This was it.

"_Showtime_…"


End file.
